From The Journal of Willow Rosenberg
October 24
The Slayer Pact is for life.
I guess I know that now. When I first read about it, it seemed like another distant prophecy, something in store that we would fight and conquer, just like we were in the business of doing. But it's more than that.
What is the Slayer? She's the only girl in all the world with the strength and ... you know. But what IS she? WHO is she? No amount of historical research and overblown prediction can unearth that. Even the words of it: "only", "girl", "hunt". It's a contract. No one has ever cared about the person inside the duty because no one ever thought she would matter.
It's time they stood up and took notice of Buffy. Because it seemed tonight like she was ready to shatter the definition. She shot Spike, clean in the head, tonight. To get him back. My God, they're so close to it. If they could only have words, they would break down to the truth about each other. That Angel loves Buffy and she loves him and there's nothing more to it.
But the Pact is sincere. Spike could very well die at her hands, but it won't be over. After eons of disregard, it appears that the essential laws of the universe won't let her get away. I don't know what to say to Buffy, really. How should I tell her that normal life isn't in the cards? That she'll forever have to deal with her birthright? That it's kill or be killed, forever. I can't do it.
Spike is a year older now, and all because in the beginning the vampires knew they would win. They cracked a deal and created their very own pawn, an immortal punching bag called the Slayer. She even had a warranty: kill within 25 years and get a brand new one. I wonder how it feels to him to know his body is changing after centuries of stasis. Chilling, probably. My guess is he's weak now.
The party's tomorrow. So many things are left unsaid between us, I can't see it ever ending. There has been so many years of it that we're weary for something, hungry for an idea of normalcy that we've never really had before. Least of all Buffy.
I want to be her friend. So I'll keep it inside me. The thought that even if she wins this battle, she'll lose the war.
When I first saw her, when she walked into the library looking like time hadn't touched her, I felt this incredible thing open up inside me. Something I've never felt before, not even with Xander or Oz ... this burst of love and compassion, the feeling that I needed to help her and needed to be by her side.
She rescued Angel, that we know. And right now she's on the other side of this wall thinking thoughts that drive her mad. I want to help. I can't. If only she could see that he still loves her, that he's worth her trust. Or maybe she does, and she's just scared. What I do know for sure is that I know nothing anymore.
A vampire becoming human. Kind of like a human becoming a vampire. The pain he must be feeling, and it won't ever go away, no matter what he does. Spike and Buffy are the same now, I suppose. More words do less.
Willow
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>From The Journal of Willow Rosenberg
October 25
Oh, God.
The sky fell on us tonight. It all happened too quickly to feel, like a heavy weight upon your body that numbs you so much that soon it's not pain you're feeling anymore, just this dull sense of loss and sickness. And you can never move from it.
The banquet was fine. What can I say? Why am I even writing this? It's so pointless, it won't help them. I can't DO ANYTHING ... and I can do anything. I just *don't know*. It was fine. He never showed. But maybe it wasn't, maybe underneath all of the talking and the smiling and the everything, there was so much tension. There was so much bitterness. I tried to blow it off when Xander got on the floor with her, together, so close it drove Cordelia to tears. Maybe for Oz's sake, or maybe I'm just saying that. How do I explain?
That wasn't even it. When she walked right out of the Bronze, leaving us, I got the sinking thought that she wanted to uncover Angel more than she did protect us. That she was leaving us, sitting ducks, in the blind hope that her old Prince Charming would be outside for her. We fought well, though. Admirably. And she killed him, oh, GOD she killed him. They both did. After tonight she's not ours anymore, we all know that. There's no point in
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Control. CONTROL. I must record this, must get this down, the state things are right now. For Buffy, for Cordelia.
Buffy left us in the Bronze, and within seconds Rory and his gang were upon us. Like flies to honey. It wasn't even because they were *scared* of her; they just knew we'd be easier targets without her to strengthen us. The battle raged at a stalemate for a while - I was so proud of the way they fought. Cordelia's almost another Slayer, and Xander and Oz were wonderful. Thanks to them, I'm still alive.
I managed to evade the vampires after a while. There were only 25 or so, and Xander got caught in with Rory early while Cordelia, Oz, and I took to slaying the bulk of the rest. My attempt at humor: we were lucky the Bronze still has wooden chairs. Imagine if Cordelia had gone with plastic. But she'd never do that.
Then I had an idea. Xander was so close to death then, when Cordelia brought out the gun from the back room. Rory was taking it out on him, why I don't know. That kept a couple off of the two of them while Oz and I got into the boiler room. We had so little time. Funny how everyone's running out of that these days.
The Holy Bible was in the desk of Aaron, the lighting guy. He's a born-again Christian, and likes to keep the Good Book near him. Jewish or not, I didn't hesitate it getting it. A couple of Psalms and I figured if it didn't work with that, then it would never work.
But it did. Oh, it did. All we had to do was set a small fire in a garbage can. Oz held it up to the ceiling, and I kept repeating the prayer, over and over ...
They melted, practically. I suppose I have a sick mind, but it reminded me of "The Wizard of Oz". They're melting, they're melting! All we did was watch, the water falling from the high beams and Rory bursting into a blaze of dust. There was so much water.
"Sprinkler systems!" cried Xander, weakly but happily.
"Smoke alarms," huffed Cordelia. It was over. The four of us, the ones Buffy deserted for years, we took down Spike's cavalry in one fell swoop. It felt good.
When we got out, Angel and Buffy were just limping out of the garage. She had a terrible look on her face, an awful stare. She wasn't done with him yet. But Angel seemed relieved, like the same weight that got put back on him later was lifted for a moment. I've never seen him so happy, so alive in that gaze behind his eyes. It scared me and cheered me at the same time.
"Dead?" Xander asked. And Buffy nodded, slowly, almost sad he was gone. She said nothing on the drive back to Xander and Cordelia's house, just sat there, next to Angel, fitting herself into that empty space inside him that she'd vacated. It wasn't all healed yet.
It was weird, but I almost felt like she looked at him the same way as when we were in New York so many years ago, when he told her that he wasn't the only one who could love, who could feel, and she was defeated. Like she had to make do with him, because love wasn't enough. Angel had to be a special man for a special Slayer. A hard weight to pull. But I digress. I guess.
We got inside, and talking started, slowly. Cordelia handed the gun back to Buffy and nodded. "Came in handy," Cordelia whispered, afraid to hear her own voice, I suppose. The gun she'd used to retrieve Angel was Buffy's again.
Buffy took it up, holding it in her hand like a jewel, to the bedroom. "Can I change?" she asked Cordelia, and got another nod. Everyone was so dirty, Oz and I covered with water, Xander and Cordelia with blood, Buffy and Angel with dirt and smoky debris. I looked over at my love and told him without words that I needed him. It didn't seem like a long time that we were embracing, because I looked up in terror after only a second.
When the shots rang out.
I must not be making sense! That must be it! I must have remembered wrong, this must not be really happening to me! God ...
... tell them I'm sorry that I couldn't be with them. To the people who read this, tell them that tonight gunshots were fired from the upstairs bedroom in the Harris home. The bedroom that Buffy Summers was in. Cordelia ran up the stairs in a second, panting and screaming for her. The door slammed just as I was halfway up the stairs with Angel. Running, we were, running towards the worst.
The doorbell rang then, for Xander and Oz ran outside. We pulled open the door, calling for them. And there was no one there. Nothing there but a wet, spreading puddle of blood on the carpet.
They're dead, I told myself. They're dead. And I must have said it out loud, because Angel dropped to the floor, howling, crying, doubled over in the feral position of his nightstalker ego, asking the moon to bring her back. I died then, a little part of me.
Buffy and Cordelia are gone. SHE is back. They're GONE. AND WE WEREN'T DOING ANYTHING!
We let them go. Where my best friends in the whole world are, I don't know. Wherever. In death, in a fate worse than blood. In blood eternal? In another part of this physical world?
Clearly now: We don't know where they are. Breathe. Buffy had suffered so much, fought so hard to defeat Spike, and she'll never get to live that life without him. I can't think of her and Cordelia as lost forever, but I should never have let Cordelia go up there alone. I should have swallowed my fear and followed those gunshots. The gunshots that I can't believe Buffy could have fired.
Because she couldn't have - Cordelia emptied all the shots in the Bronze. It was something else. It HAS to be something else!
Wherever they are, I think now of Buffy and Cordelia and vow to get them back, no matter what the cost. Until I am whole again, I no longer write or speak of anything else. My thoughts leave me. Because I failed them, and there's nothing else I can say. Not tonight. Not ever. I shouldn't be making a tombstone to the two greatest women alive, I should be making one to the vilest.
Willow Rosenberg
1981-2006
FRACTURED.